Valedictorian and salutatorian share words of wisdom with John Jay's Class of 2025

I’d like to begin by saying congratulations! Each one of us has come so far from the last time we were sat in folding chairs and June heat at our 8th grade moving up ceremony. 4 years ago, the high school building loomed above us up the hill and seemed really far away. Its lettered hallways were intimidating, its courses called “Calculus” and “European History” notoriously challenging, and its social dynamics a mystery, navigating uncharted waters of upperclassmen. Yet our first day of high school came and went, as has every day since. Whether we crawled or sprinted through the hours, stressed or laughed through the minutes, we have crossed the finish line and stand at the edge of another new beginning.  

However, this time we are not just moving buildings. We are stepping into new careers, moving to new states, and seeking friendships with people we have not even met yet. But within all these unknowns lies possibility.  

 On the field hockey team, we use a quote that has often crossed my mind this past year: “You can, but will you?”  

You can play the game, but will you sweat through practice the week before so you are ready for their offense? 

You can take the test, but will you review the equations one last time so you ace it? 

You can toss that plastic bottle in the trash, but will you take that extra second to help the environment and recycle it? 

With every decision, we are faced with that same quiet challenge: “Will you?”

Our action is the power we retain in the face of possibilities.  

 One of the reasons I am so proud to be a part of this graduating class is that since our first day at John Jay our answer has always been that we will.  

Our freshman year we found our friends behind COVID masks. Our sophomore year we cut our carbon footprint on Meatless Mondays. Our junior year we invented parking spots when anyone else would have called the lot full. And to me, “Will you?” has been the mantra of our senior year:  

When student council asked if we could come to school at 7 am for a tailgate, we showed up carrying jugs of pancake batter and a griddle.  

When spirit week themes suggested we could dress as Barbie or Uncle Sam, we broke out the feather boas and cowboy boots.  

When Common App declared we could submit our college applications until 11:59 on November 1st, we waited until that very last minute to click send. 

When Ms. Muschio said we could have not one but two senior sunsets, our answer was “I will bring the picnic blanket. ”

 Thank you to this class for making our time at John Jay special. From fog on senior sunrise to the population boom of 2007, we have not let anything stop us.  

Thank you to our teachers who meet us every year in September already believing that we can, and who hold our hands through Algebra or essay writing until we also believe in ourselves.  

Thank you to my family for your unwavering support, from helping me mix concrete in the backyard to quizzing me on flashcards on the drive to school. Your steady encouragement has given me the courage to face every challenge and the strength to say, 'I will.'" 

 So today, on this precipice of possibility, our purple and white robes symbolize that we are well prepared to face the trials of college, career, and adulthood. Late nights spent studying, at rehearsals, on the buses home from games, or worrying about friend group drama, all pushed us, but we still got up and went to school the next morning. To every challenge we showed that we will rise above. So, recycle your chem notes, and take your student ID out of your phone case, but as you cross this stage, remember what you have learned here, bring with you your memories, your knowledge, and above all your power to shape your future.  

“You can, but will you?”  

It feels a little surreal to be standing here. I remember being in elementary school, typing in my school username—kstevens25—and thinking the year 2025 sounded like something from the future. It felt so far away. But now… here we are. 

As I started thinking about how to capture what these past four years have meant, I kept coming back to one song: “I Lived” by OneRepublic. The lyrics talk about wanting to experience every part of life—the good, the hard, the joyful, the painful—and walking away being able to say, “I did it all.” And honestly, that’s exactly what our time at John Jay feels like. 

After years of early alarms, chaotic group projects, rushed trips to the cafeteria for cookies and water, and constantly asking ourselves how we were supposed to finish everything in one night—we’ve finally made it. Graduation. The last time we’ll all be together in the same place as high school students. 

It’s hard to put into words what the last four years have meant, because so much happened inside and outside the classroom. Some moments were exciting, like finding out our class was canceled in the morning. Some were stressful—like being handed that 37-page AP Gov review packet. Some were hilarious—like anything that happened in Mr. Friedman’s 10th grade English class. And some moments were just plain hard. But like the song says, “I owned every second that this world could give.” And that’s exactly what we did—together. 

We discovered passions—whether it was science, music, literature, or sports. We also learned to power through setbacks, like when every single class decided to assign something due on the last day of the quarter, or when you thought you were finally done, only to find another assignment hiding in the “upcoming” section of Schoology. 

And beyond the daily grind, we experienced something none of us expected—living through a global pandemic. Our middle school years were spent behind screens and masks. We missed out on so much—bar and bat mitzvahs, birthdays, milestones, field trips, even just normal school days. But if there's anything we’ve proven, it’s that we are resilient. We learned how to adapt. We figured out how to stay connected even when we were apart. And when we finally returned to crowded hallways and classroom desks, we didn’t take it for granted. Like the song says, “hope when the water rises / You built a wall” and that’s exactly what we did - we adapted.  

Still, some of the most meaningful moments weren’t in a classroom at all. 

They happened while grabbing mac bites at Cam’s, eating açaí bowls and sandwiches from Bobo’s, or waiting in line at King Kone for a ridiculously sized ice cream. They happened under the Friday night lights, squeezed together in the bleachers, sweating and screaming, powdered in neon chalk, jumping up and down with people we didn’t always hang out with—but that night, we were all on the same team. And those moments? Those are what made this place feel like more than a school. They made us all feel like a community. “With every broken bone,” the lyric goes, “I swear I lived.” And these are the memories that prove it. 

However, it’s important to recognize we didn’t get here alone. Our teachers have been consistently shaping us, far more than they probably realize. They’ve challenged us, supported us, and believed in us. I still remember walking into AP Euro sophomore year, absolutely terrified. Everyone warned me how hard it would be. And yes—it was hard. But MoT was always there, cheering us on, and having more belief in our abilities than we had in ourselves. 

And our families—they’ve been holding us up the whole time. Like my dad, who stayed up until 11 p.m. to read my essays after long nights of dance practice. My mom, who always reminded me that life is about more than grades. And my siblings, who would answer my texts in a heartbeat when I couldn’t figure out my calc homework. And of course, my grandpa—who never fails to remind me that my "smart genes definitely came from him." 

And to our friends—thank you for keeping us laughing through it all. Whether it was over FaceTime at 2 a.m. studying for a test or in the parking lot before school because we needed to arrive early for a good parking spot, those moments were the best part of it all. As the song says, “I hope that you spend your days, but they all add up.” Ours definitely did. 

So, what happens now? 

We move forward—not just with diplomas in hand, but with the confidence that we’ve already lived through some of the most defining moments of our lives. This song reminds me that living fully isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about showing up, saying yes, making mistakes, laughing through the chaos, and loving every second of it. 

We’ve done that. And whatever comes next, I hope we keep doing it. 

To the Class of 2025—thank you. Thank you for the laughs, the friendship, and the memories that made these years so unforgettable. I am proud—so proud—to be a part of this class. A class full of smart, kind, creative, passionate people who are ready to take on the world. 

Like the song says, we “did it all.”  

Congratulations, Class of 2025.